


Is This Seat Taken?

by orphan_account



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 01:37:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7598347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's more to Drift's thighs than aesthetic appeal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is This Seat Taken?

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to distract myself from MTMTE 55 anxiety so here's a bitesized gay.

A cacophony of noise erupts from Swerve’s as the doors to the establishment slide open. Rodimus embellishes his grand entrance with a cocksure grin and finger pistols, firing a shot - each accompanied by a pew pew, of course - at each patron as he struts through the throng of mechs. He exudes swagger in the way only he can: spoiler flared, helm high, shoulders broad, dominating the space with each step; all spectacle. 

Heads turn, naturally. Trailbreaker raises his glass in greeting and a few drops of strikingly fuchsia liquid slosh out. Unfazed, he flashes Rodimus a smile before downing the rest of his drink, already flagging down Swerve for another round. Beside him, Skids gives the captain a nod of acknowledgement before his servos become occupied with stabilizing his beyond tipsy companion.

From their booth off to the side, Chromedome and Rewind pause their conversation long enough for the latter to offer a wave. They’re back in their own little bubble soon enough, both leaning inwards in a slightly intimate display that leaves Rodimus tempted to let out a wolf whistle and a quip about PDA. But he continues onwards through the crowd, sidestepping past a Tailgate engaged in a rather animated conversation with Hoist and Boss. Behind the counter, currently occupied by Hound, Riptide, and an isolated Cyclonus (that is until Ratchet takes one of the unoccupied stools on either side of him), Swerve hollers a greeting and sets down the glass he’s currently drying to serve the surly CMO his usual.

Movie night never fails to instill a sense of unity upon the Lost Light’s crew, and though certain members are missing, notably a Duly Appointed Enforcer to the surprise of no one, the atmosphere is charged with jubilation. Rodimus even catches sight of Red Alert off to the side, quietly conversing with Rung and for once appearing to be blessed with a reprieve from those unsavory thoughts that so often plague his processor. 

The seat of honor sits centerstage, soon to be occupied by Rewind; a small courtesy for the one destined to act as projector for the evening. Rodimus casts a cursory glance around the bar - not dwelling on the fact that the names belonging to quite a few of the faces scattered around elude him - finding that lone chair to be the only seat remaining.

Until he spots those familiar white finials like a beacon among the crowd.

Drift occupies a stool at the center table, flanked by Pipes. Though the latter appears to be quite timid as they converse, Drift gives Pipes his full attention, his face alight with a reassuring smile. He must be genuinely engrossed, Rodimus muses with a touch of admiration, as Drift fails to notice the way his best friend sidles up to them -

“Is this seat taken?”

and proceeds to sit on his lap, flashing him a cheeky grin in the process.

“Uhm...Nice to see you, too?” Drift arches an optic ridge and catches the bewildered gaze of Pipes. “If you need a place to sit, Rodimus, I could give you mine.”

“What? No way! I’ve got the best seat in the house riiight here.” As if to accentuate his point, Rodimus gives his aft a wiggle. “Your thighs are a gift from Primus himself, Drift. They were practically made for this!”

“If you insist,” Drift concedes. He reaches around his passenger to grab his drink, but comes up empty.

Rodimus holds the glass in one servo, his other stroking his chin as if in deep thought as he scrutinizes the beverage. “Huh. Not feeling the engex tonight?” 

“No. You know I’m not a-”

He takes a sip, savoring the non-bitter flavor on his glossa. “Yeeep. Definitely not engex.”

“-big drinker.” Drift plucks his glass from Rodimus’ grip and resumes nursing it. “Besides, someone needs to stay sober, right?”

“You’re a brave soul, Drift. Especially on tonight of all nights,” Rodimus says as he leans in close to Drift’s audio receptor. “I’ve head things about this Earth film that Swerve picked out for us tonight. Apparently you need to be _absolutely overcharged_ to really appreciate it.”

Drift hums thoughtfully. “It’s really that bad?”

“Don’t know if I’d say _bad,_ but from how Swerve sold it it sounds like...an _experience._ What was it he called it again? A, ‘black comedy,’ I think?”

“Really? I thought it was supposed to be a tragedy.”

“Yeah, it’s a little ambiguous. But he assured me that it’s a ‘cult classic’ among humans. Whatever that means.”

Rodimus shifts, getting comfortable on his improvised throne as the lights start to dim and Rewind gets into position. Drift rests his servos on Rodimus’ thighs, absentmindedly caressing the smooth plating with a digit. 

“Sure you don’t want to take a shot with me before it starts?” Rodimus asks as he waves Swerve over. “It’s on me.”

Drift’s servo still its movements. “I’m sure.”

“Alright.” Rodimus accepts the shot glass, offering Swerve a clap on the shoulder before the bartender makes his way over towards Brainstorm. He glances back at Drift, holding his drink high in a toast. “Here’s to you, buddy. And your delightfully comfy lap.”


End file.
